“I think John loves your mom.”
There is a hint of beard showing around my father’s lips.
He says, “What do you think?”
“He just comes over for dinner sometimes.”
“And?”
“I don’t know, he’s taken us to the movies.”
“How many times?”
“Three times. Whatever. It’s not my business.”
My father starts to rub at a spot on his chin. I can hear the stubble scratch against his fingers.
“Yeah, okay then. Okay.”
That’s it.
#
From the driveway, I watch my father’s car move down the street. When it stops on the corner, his car matches the color of the night, except for its two red lights looking back. The lights disappear when the car turns back onto Drake’s Boulevard.
The bulb in the porchlight has gone, but I don’t mind. Being in the dark makes it easy not to think about much else but keeping my hands warm in the pockets of my sweatshirt.
I stand on the porch and look over the front yard before going inside. It’s something I’ve been doing for a while now, just looking around outside to see what’s what. The moon is high in the sky and also spread over the yard like one soft, thin sheet. Everything sits cold and still under the moon tonight. Last week, that same moon was hidden behind the tips of the redwood trees separating us from the neighbors. I take note of that.